Immunity
by RizzlesNeverFizzles
Summary: Jane Rizzoli is not immune.


Jane Rizzoli is not immune.

The vast majority of the time, she wants everyone to think she is, but I, Maura Isles, know better.

And I'm the only one who does.

Sometimes I am capable of reading her emotions outright, but others I see the mask cover her facial expressions and body language before those emotions can display themselves for everyone around her to see, including me.

But in our solitude, I see everything.

Even before Jane and I became lovers, I knew that she was not immune. Jane showed parts of herself to me that she had never shown another human being, not her mother, not her brothers. No one...until me.

* * *

The first time Jane and her team closed a case revolving around a murdered child, subtle signs had shown me that Jane was extremely on edge when she went home. It was enough for me to be concerned, and after finishing up some paperwork, I decided to follow her home. I knocked on the door several times, but when she didn't answer, I used the key she'd given me a couple of months prior to let myself in.

"Jane?" I had called out. She never answered, but in the quiet I heard her shower running. As I made my way through her apartment and came closer to her bathroom door, I heard loud sobbing coming from the other side. My heart broke right there in that very moment. I called out her name again and she sobbed my name so pitifully, I knew immediately that she needed me.

I found her sitting on the floor of her bathtub while the water splashed against her back, knees curled up to her chest as she hugged them tightly. Her skin was flushed from the heat of the shower, a stark contrast compared to her dark curls that were matted against her upper back. "Oh Jane."

"Five, Maur," Jane wailed, her sobs recommencing. "She was five!"

I remained by her side the rest of the night.

No. Jane Rizzoli is not immune.

* * *

When Jane's father left, she tried to remain strong for her mother and Frankie, but Jane was anything but okay with the situation. Her entire life, especially during her childhood, Jane had admired her father, and to see her parents' marriage end after more than 30 years because he seemed to be having, as she called it, a late mid-life crisis, it bothered her immensely.

"Their marriage wasn't perfect, Maur," Jane had sobbed, curled up on her sofa with her head in my lap. "But they loved each other. I know they did. And then Pop just-" Her body was consumed by her sobbing and I simply rubbed her back, trying to calm her. Eventually she just fell asleep.

Her response was even more visceral when her father returned and wanted to have the marriage annulled so he could remarry. She told her mother she and her brothers were adults, that they knew the situation for exactly what it was.

Still, that night she had cried again, curled up in my lap. For her father to even suggest that any of them were unwanted, it broke her.

To everyone else, however, she appeared nonchalant.

But once again, I knew that Jane Rizzoli was not immune.

* * *

Though Jane will never admit it to anyone else, the night Jane and I made love for the first time, she cried.

We were lying there post-coitus, her breathing slowing to its normal rate once again, and as I laid there with my head on her chest, listening to her heartbeat, I heard her sniffle above me.

I lifted my head to look at her. My brow furrowed in concern. I remember propping myself up on my elbow, and as a few tears slipped down her cheeks, I lifted my hand and brushed away the tears with my thumb. "Jane, why are you crying?"

"I'm not!' she cried out in defiance, lifting both hands to brush off her cheeks. "And if you ever tell anyone I did, I'll never forgive you."

After I laid my head back down on her chest, she finally spoke. "I have never loved anyone so much in my entire life, Maur. I know," she then paused to sniffle again. Her voice dropped to nearly a whisper. "I know this is it for me."

I wrapped my arm tighter around her waist. "Me too, Jane. Me too."

* * *

Jane Rizzoli is not immune.

Not to grief.

Not to heartache.

Not to love.

She is affected like everyone else. She simply doesn't show it.

Not until she is in my arms.

There she finds all the immunity she needs.


End file.
